Full Circle
by Icegazer
Summary: Reflection, symbolism, history repeating itself, but the ending’s changed. Buffy and Spike enjoy a moment together in the Sunnydale skating rink.


**Disclaimer:** Buffy the Vampire Slayer and therefore - indirectly - this fanfic because of content, belongs to Joss Whedon and UPN. I use the characters without permission for my happiness. I'm not financially profiting off of this. All I'm getting is a happy. ...feeling inside. It's rated G, people!

It was like riding a bicycle. Even if it had been a few years since she's put on a pair of ice skates, fewer still since she'd even had skaterly thoughts, Buffy still knew the moves.

She didn't know exactly what urged her to go to Sunnydale's skating rink tonight instead of continuing to hole herself and the potentials up in her house and hope the First stay down for a little while longer. It might have been the pressure of taking care of so many people who were special but scared, and the paranoia that the First could be anyone, anywhere.

The problem with the First was it talked a good game. A wonderful game; a deadly game. It was essentially harmless since it didn't have a corporeal body, but that was the problem with evil that she was learning – evil was evil and evil had every ability to corrupt be it touchy or no touchy.

So, instead of going out and fighting some evil, after her patrol she had entered the mostly deserted skating rink, surprised a cashier who was so giddy about having a customer (or company) that she fell over herself to strike up conversation while Buffy paid for access to the ice. Maybe the girl was hoping Buffy would invite her to join? It was rather quiet...

Buffy smiled apologetically and made her way to the rink, her skates in a tote bag which she had dug out of the back of her closet. Sometimes when she did spring-cleaning and gave her old clothes to Good Will, she would come across them. However, though she'd had plenty of chances to get rid of them, she would just open up the tote, finger the skate's blades, and then close the tote and with a small smile shove it back into the back of her closet.

Putting on her skates with practiced ease, Buffy made her way to the rink on the rubber deck without looking like a duck waddling. That was one of the many things she had prided herself in when she was pre-Slayer: grace on and off of the ice.

Pushing off gently, Buffy quickly reacquainted her body with gliding on skates and then put herself through the paces.

A man stepped out of the shadows of the rink's rubber deck and slowly meandered to the half door Buffy had opened to allow her access to the ice. Eyes glued to the single skater on the rink, he slowly settled his hip against the frame of the open door, arms crossed.

It took Buffy a while to notice him, she was so engrossed in her moves and balance. She skated past him in a lap of the oval ice slab before she became aware that she had a spectator. Buffy's body prepared her for an attack; her brain remembering the last time she had fought on ice. No wonder she hadn't been to the rink in so long. While pretty looking, fighting on ice wasn't the easiest thing to do.

Her body relaxed marginally when she recognized the bleach-blonde hair and the lean frame casually at rest, but still looking as if he thrummed with energy. Which was all directed at her, if his eyes were any indication. Spike.

He watched as Buffy coasted to a stop in the middle of the rink and filled her hands with her own elbows – an indication that she was nervous and shy. She wasn't looking at him either. Instead her eyes were fluttering nervously around the room, bashful to alight on him for very long.

Charmed by her reaction to him, Spike stepped onto the ice without thinking. He was merely trying to get closer like a moth to the flame. She'd be the death of him one day, but he couldn't dredge up enough self-preservation to care.

However, the whole somber, nervous mood was broken when Spike realized that he was standing on ice, blanched, then slipped and fell right on his butt, arms flailing.

The sight of it startled a small chuckle from Buffy, which Spike didn't hear over his own voice loudly cursing as he tried to get his bearings straight and stand upright. It was no mean feat and he was rather happy with his success before a boot-clad foot swept out from under him and he was flat on his back again.

Smiling to herself, Buffy skated closer as he worked his way vertical again. She found it more than mildly amusing that someone who fought with such cat-like grace could be such a klutz on ice.

The smile rapidly melted from her face as Spike latched onto her for balance before his feet could become mutinous again and stop supporting him. Buffy grasped his forearms for counterbalance to keep them both from spilling onto the cold ice.

They were both breathing hard – Spike from the exertion (though breath wasn't necessary) Buffy from being startled. As their breath slowed, Buffy's eyes slowly trekked their way from his collarbone to be caught by his burning blue gaze.

How was it that a man could look so vulnerable yet so overwhelming all in his expression?

Spike stared at her. It was one of his favorite pastimes – watching her. However, it was best when she was looking back at him, like she was doing right now.

Feeling more and more like the moth singing it's wings, recklessly killing itself, entranced by the beauty and magnetism of the flame, Spike felt himself drowning in her big hazel eyes. Her features were set in a soft, wondering expression, and her eyes still had that shy look to them. He wanted to...

Spike's eyes widened with fear a moment before he lost his balance. Buffy tried to keep them standing, but the leverage was all in his favor so she went with him. He landed with an 'oof', bruising his tailbone a third time. Buffy landed with a louder 'oof' though the 'oof'er was Spike. Dazed, he let Buffy glide to her feet and skate a little away from him. Nice and out of range of windmilling arms trying to grab something – namely Buffy – for support.

She was smiling now that the only part of her that was touching the cold, slippery ice was her skate blades.

"I gotta say, Spike. You are one of the most uncoordinated people I know."

Spike ignored her as he planted his feet shoulder width apart, a hand splayed on the ice as he remained bent over.

"Worse than Xander."

That had him bolting upright to give her a piece of his mind. "I'm coordinated!" He howled at her, which made her chew on her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Oh?" She asked, raising an eyebrow to his slightly wobbling stance. He was still upright, but for how long?

"Have you ever seen the Whelp on ice?" He asked petulantly, then gloated when she didn't respond.

...only to bleat and curse loudly as he lost his balance again.

Buffy allowed herself to laugh at him. Spike heard her this time.

He was staring at her as if she was water and he a thirsty man on the desert. Not in a lusty way, but in a way that without her he couldn't survive another moment. She'd seen the look a few times before, but that didn't stop her reaction to it. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and suddenly she was shy again.

To distract her reaction to his look, and to hopefully distract him as well, Buffy moved closer and stuck out her left hand.

Spike stared at it for a while, then looking like she had just kicked him, he slipped a hand in hers. She hefted and he was vertical again. Still staring at her, but vertical.

Buffy looked down at their hands, which were still clasped.

"Your skin is like ice"

He hesitated as if he didn't want to remind her. "Vampire."

"Yeah. I know." Buffy's voice was quiet, a mere whisper of words.

She hazarded a look at him, taking in the look he was sending her again. The look she'd seen a thousand times yet never really meant anything to her but annoyance. Until recently. Until now.

Buffy took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder while she quietly confessed: "Sometimes I forget."

She didn't look at his reaction to her words, but she heard it in the sharp intake of breath, and felt it in the tightening of his grip on her hand. In her peripheral vision Spike's head restlessly shifted about, which was something he did when trying not to cry. She kept her eyes glued to the open half door of the rink.

He'd forgotten that he was on the rink again because he tried to shift towards her but instead landed on his butt. This time he let go of her hand, rather than drag her down with him. The cursing started up again.

Buffy laughed.


End file.
